The bulbs arrived on a day that I was busy. In fact the whole week was not ideal for planting bulbs. I was a little grouchy with myself for ordering them. This is exactly why I’d ordered them by mail several months before. I knew I would never make time to go buy bulbs and plant them, but if they were already there, I would find time to prevent them from dying. So I took my trowel and went out in the chilly wind.
I scraped holes in the dirt, trying not to disturb the few remaining annual flowers which had survived the first frosts. I placed the bulbs in groups of five, which gardening books tell me is an aesthetically pleasing way to group flowers. I even mixed tulips with daffodils to add variety. The smooth, tear-drop tulips looked so elegant next to the messier daffodil bulbs. A layer of dirt and then crocus bulbs went over the top before I filled the hole completely. Planting bulbs is an expression of faith that spring will come. I need that when all the greenery is shriveling up to hide for the winter. I want to shrivel and hide too. Instead I hid bulbs in the ground to wait for spring.
Winter was long, cold, and dark. But I survived all the storms both internal and external. The sun grew warmer and the world began to be green again. My expression of faith is rewarded, for now I have flowers.
